


How to Court your Life Partner

by InediblePeriwinkle



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, background ships mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27743209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InediblePeriwinkle/pseuds/InediblePeriwinkle
Summary: Reginald Copperbottom is the Chieftain of a wild group of thieves, con men, and other miscreants within an organization that spans continents. It keeps him pretty busy, busy enough that some things in his personal life slip through the cracks without him noticing. Forced to take days off for his ‘mental stability and overall health’, Reginald realizes it’s been a long time since he and his enforcer so much as...talked.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 44
Kudos: 138





	1. For your Mental Health

He was not that old yet. 

It was simply infuriating, sitting there, listening to the assumptions of an ex-psychiatrist (who let their certifications lapse) and a board-certified behavioralist (who sounded like she works with animals, not people), tell him exactly what they thought was wrong with him. 

Stress, they dared to accuse, sitting there on their nice couches in a secret base near the coast, was eating away at him and probably contributing to a lot of his issues as of late. 

He’d stopped sleeping all but an hour or so each night, too busy with the next idea, heist, racing ideas that whipped through his brain so quickly he _had_ to write them down or they’d be forgotten. 

He’d stopped eating, as well, but that was simply because he just didn’t have time. He’d eat something in the evening, make up for it, he was busier than usual is all. 

His headaches...he might grant them that, everyone in the organization was a damn headache at times. 

And as for his new dissociations, forgetfulness, mood swings, exhaustion, chest pains, extreme paranoia, and re-establishing his childhood habit of biting his fingernails? 

It was none of their goddamn business. 

“Well,” The ex-psychiatrist had said, tapping their pen against the desk, “Either you take some days here and there to give yourself a break, or we assume this is all just due to natural aging.” 

He’d be impressed with their underhanded victory if he wasn’t so appalled. 

He was thirty-nine, not seventy-nine. He wasn’t even middle-aged yet! 

So yes. He’d acquiesced. He’d take a single day off this week, be dropped off in some surrounding area to spend the day. Enjoy himself. 

He’d planned on bringing work, holing up in a Chicago cafe and just resuming duties in a new location, but they’d set his guard dog on him. 

Reginald sent a nasty look towards his enforcer, who was sipping a coffee and staring out onto the busy streets ahead of them. 

The ignored Toppat bristled, hands around his own mug, rain pattering down around their little umbrella and sending the streets mirror-slick until they reflected the lights around. 

It was a grey day. Pale, chilly, colorless, wind biting through Reginald’s black-on-black suit and the ugly brown scarf everyone who lived in this city seemed to own. People walked by briskly, avoiding eye contact with each other as the cars passed and some street musician played jazz around the corner. 

It was the kind of day Reginald genuinely really liked, among a busy setting he preferred, and the fact his coffee was the perfect temperature and the food was excellent only served to piss him off more. 

“Personally, I think they’re blowing this far out of proportion,” Reginald told Right, who he knew was paying attention even if he pretended he wasn’t. “I just wanted-”

“Not supposed t’talk about work,” Right reminded him. “Pick another subject, Reg.” 

The shorter man ground his teeth. 

“It’s not _work_ ,” He replied testily, “I’m just having a conversation about the appointment.” 

There, Right looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. Thunder rumbled overhead, still not able to silence the sirens in the distance. 

“Right here,” His enforcer tapped a gnarled finger against the grated tabletop, “Nothin’ about that world exists. So it’s not gonna get talked about.” 

He had the gall today, didn’t he? Reginald scrambled for something to bite back with, seething, and Right settled back in his chair. Didn’t care. 

Reginald had always been intimidating. The most powerful man in the Clan, a bitter and dastardly creature, willing to do anything for what he viewed as best for his world no matter the costs. He might be slightly short of stature for a man, on the small side and soft rather than muscled, but he knew people were afraid of him. And they should be. He could intimidate anyone. 

Except for this bastard. 

Right had spent nearly twenty years watching over him. He’d seen Reginald at his lowest, weakest, and never breathed a word about it afterwards. The two of them had been sharing a room, a bed, an exclusive life together for well over a decade. His Right Hand Man was immune to his threatening behavior. 

As he should be, but. Well. It was annoying in cases like this. 

“Watch the traffic, Reg,” Right told him over the rim of his mug, “Y’like the city.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in reply, sulkily sipping at his own coffee. 

It was nice out. He loved the rain, love the dullness of color that blended buildings and streets and sky into a monochrome palette, loved the soothing sound of drops hitting pavement and vinyl umbrella. But he was angry, dammit, can’t he be angry right now? 

“I don’t appreciate-” He started, and was shushed like a child. 

“We’re watching the traffic,” He could hear the smile in Right’s voice. “We’re not talkin’ for a few minutes, Reg.” 

The Toppat was disgusted. He narrowed his eyes back out at the street. 

A bunch of schoolchildren, too young to drive but old enough to be enthralled with the city, passed by wearing similar uniforms and chattering loudly. He could hear the train streets back, screeching against the rails as it carted people from one end of the city to another. 

Around the corner, saxophone music continued to play despite the increase in rain and ominous thunder. 

Reginald exhaled, slowly, closing his eyes. He could still see the millions of things he needed done before the end of this week seared into his mind. 

“Right,” He said, ignoring tasteful pauses and careful pacing of sentences to get it all out before he was shushed like an infant yet again, “I want to talk about _something_.” 

His mind was still racing. If it wasn’t actively taking in information or otherwise engaged, he felt restless. 

“What about?” His enforcer asked him. 

Reginald tsked his tongue. 

“You tell me,” He said, crossing one ankle over knee, “Whatever wasn’t on the list they gave you.” 

“List?” Right repeated innocently, the bastard. 

“They had to have given you a list of things I’m not allowed to talk about,” Reg snipped, “You’re very specific when you tell me to stop.” 

A single chuckle. “Yeah, alright, Reg.” 

The wall of a man turned, metal chair screeching against concrete. Steady green eyes watched Reginald closely, deceptively laid back for a man who could- and has- killed men with his bare hands. 

He raised bushy red eyebrows. Waiting.

Reginald spread his hands elegantly. “I don’t know what you expect. I don’t know what to talk about.” 

“Not work,” Right told him, leaning his arms on the table. “Home. Anything you have to do. Nothin’ that agitates you.” 

“That alone takes a lot of things off the list.” 

There, a real smile. Hidden, but large enough that it crinkled the corners of Right’s eyes. He felt quite accomplished. 

“Right then,” His enforcer said, something soft coloring his words, “Talk about somethin’ you like.” 

Reginald furrowed his brows. 

Something he liked. But not work, nothing he had to do. Presumably, he couldn’t talk about things that he’d done, either, which left him...er... 

He racked his brains. Something...not related to Toppats. Impossible, nothing- everything he _was_ was related to Toppats. 

“There isn’t anything,” He said, appalled. “Nothing outside...home. I was bloody well born into it, Right, I don’t _have_ anything else to talk about.” 

The man seemed to mull that over. He stroked his moustache, narrowing his eyes somewhere over Reginald’s head. 

They’d met in the Clan. Reginald had only ever worked in the Clan. Aside from student volunteering at University while his Toppat parents worked in the United States, and he hardly counted any of that experience as _enjoyable_ to reminisce about. 

“Where do you want t’go for dinner?” 

“What?” He looked down at the near-empty plate on the table. “I thought this was all we were doing.” 

“It’s not even two, Reg.” 

“Well what are we supposed to _do_ ,” He was aware he was whining at this point, but god he didn’t care anymore. “When am I allowed to go back?” 

“Not ‘til tomorrow,” Right ignored the Leader’s tantrum entirely, too used to it this many years down the line. “Thought we’d check the museums.” 

Reginald narrowed his eyes. Art, most likely, or history, both of which were secret interests of his own. It would be like Right to exploit him like this all the rest of the day. Force him to actually enjoy himself. 

“Bastard,” Reginald called him, begrudging affection spilling through the word. 

Right smiled at him again, a knowing, quiet thing, and turned back towards the street. 

Goddammit. He felt nearly warm inside, annoyingly at peace and starting to relax. He could talk anyone’s ear off about different cultures’ contributions to art as a whole, had loved learning about it in school and kept up on knowledge even as an adult. Though others in his employ were more interested in monetary value moreso than cultural. 

Don’t get him wrong, so was Reginald, it was his job to lead a bunch of thieves and he was absolutely one himself, but…

Well. Call it a hobby. 

Would Right care to listen to him talk about something like that? Reginald sent a sideways look at his enforcer, who looked more relaxed than he’d seen him in ages. It felt embarrassing to think about, somehow, but he would be able to talk about that comfortably and without referencing their lifestyle. 

Reginald tipped his head, analyzing his Right Hand Man. The sky continued to rumble overhead, crackling as the Leader finally relented. 

He reached his hand forward, gloved fingers sliding under Right’s palm until they were interlocking with his own. The enforcer looked over at him, surprised, and Reginald merely smiled in reply. 

Right’s fingers curled around his, and Reginald went from being reluctantly at peace to basking in it.


	2. Remember something?

The breeze was nice. There were gulls chasing fishing boats out on the sound, people dressed in old-fashioned clothing milling about, tempting people into shops. It was pleasant enough. But.

Reginald had a meeting with upper Elites to start planning as soon as he returned, however, so the quaint little shipyard was largely ignored as he walked onward. Masted ships straight from pirate ship fantasies, Norwegian Longboats, row after row of old fishing boats passed them by as he walked next to his Right Hand. 

Both of them were dressed more casually, though Right was still wearing a brimmed hat and his old jacket. Still felt a bit like they were unnatural. That they stuck out. Reginald would worry more about that if he wasn’t so concerned about making sure everything was perfect back home. 

Upper-Ranking Toppats were rough to deal with. Many older than him struggle to equate him with his deserved amount of respect, even though he was one of the most successful Leaders in history. Younger ones already found him old, outdated, were secretly propping friends up to overthrow him. 

He wasn’t that old. He wasn’t _quite_ 40 yet, younger than a number of Leaders when they’d taken the mantle. 

However, there was a lesser-talked joke among Toppats that most leaders were killed/dethroned/MIA before they were fifty. Reynaldo and Terrence, for example, were both violently taken out when they were 47. So, really, if you think about it like that, the fact they were wasting his time with ‘days off’ like this was idiotic if he had about 11 more years left of being Leader at best- 

“Nope,” Right interrupted when he tried to voice this, “Not talkin’ about it.” 

Reginald was a thirty-something year old man, and absolutely did not roll his eyes. 

Water lapped at the docks, a soothing and constant sound, as they strolled past antique storefronts, boots crunching over dusty gravel. Reginald said nothing at all in reply, trying to placate the man by watching crews on their various seacrafts. 

They didn’t do a lot of work on water, the Toppats. Reginald preferred the skies, but the seas also had some legal muddling they could take advantage of. 

“...Reg.” 

“ _What_?” The Toppat snapped, whirling on his Right Hand. “I’m not saying a bloody thing, Right-”

The other lifted his head and shot him a look from under the brim, stony and piercing in the cold sunshine. Reginald wasn’t intimidated.

“I’m limited by where I can go, what I can say, what I wear,” Reginald tugged his casual button-up with revulsion, “I can damn well think whatever the hell I want!” 

“S’not the point, is it?” Right was unfazed by his show of temper even as people around them began giving them a wide berth. “Stress-”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Reginald stepped in, nearly toe-to-toe with the man, having to tilt his chin up to look him in the eyes. “Stress? I’m stressed now! I will always be fucking stressed, do you have any idea what the fuck is going on around us while-”

Right gripped his shoulder. Hard. 

It hurt, and that was what startled him. 

Reginald stared up at him as gnarled fingers dug painfully into his bad shoulder, the one that never healed properly after getting shot. Right’s face was indifferent, which was more frightening than when he looked angry. He grabbed his other shoulder, steering the smaller man away from their current location to a bench tucked behind the bookshop. 

It was shaded, peaceful, and Reginald had way too much nervous energy in him right now to-

“Sit.” The word was clipped, a rumbling anger hidden behind the single syllable. 

Reginald sat. 

Only because he knew what that look was. He was on Guard Dog mode. Right stood, surveyed the area, devoid of any sort of expression other than watchfulness. 

The Toppat Leader watched him in return, silent, lounging on the uncomfortable wooden bench. When he got like this, it was usually dire situations. Dangerous ones, where Right would stay awake and Reginald would sleep, the only time he knew it was safe to do so. Heavily armed, ready to kill anything that moved. He’d never seen him do that in such a crowded area before. 

He could talk at him all he wanted, Right wouldn’t answer or even acknowledge him until it was over. So he waited. 

He could still see the ships, closer to the fishing ones now, a rancid and sour sort of smell that reminded him of fresh markets and seagulls. The men talked to each other, loudly, in accents that brought Reginald back to his days as a ‘normal’ child at University. Before his parents were killed. 

Funny, his own accent was irredeemably botched at this point. Born to English parents, raised in North America, spending the majority of his life locked away on an airship with the same people from all over the world. It messed with his accent, his own now bleeding with lilts, pronunciations, and phrases from the people he interacted with. Unrecognizable. Like most of the others who resided with him.

A Frankenaccent, Burt Curtis had called it once, and while Reginald thought the term was trashy it was accurate. 

He’d sounded different back then, wanting badly to be a proper and perfect student, underhandedly making his enemies’ lives miserable and boosting up his allies. Trying out all the tricks he used later in life in the Toppats, a trial run. 

Funny. Felt like a lifetime ago, something almost forgotten. He hadn’t given it much thought, not until he heard that distinctive lilt to the fishermen’s voices, how that sort of thing could bring you rushing back-

“Reg.” 

The Leader looked up, keeping his expression cool. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. 

Right had relaxed again, looked at him instead of through him, no longer readying himself to snap a human spine. Outright, anyhow.

He kept his gaze, daring him to start up scolding him again.

Wisely, his Right Hand decided to say nothing. Instead, he sat himself down next to Reginald, looking out over the docksides.

The Leader fidgeted, ankle over knee, watching a three-masted ship come sailing in with it’s sails pulled in. 

Was it motorized after all, then? Reginald watched the sunlight catch the water behind it, looking for telltale waves from a motor. Cheaping out, were we? Get out there and row in or whatever they did back then. 

This would actually be an interesting cover. Have a ship of people, choose reenactments as a cover, host their Elite members and form heists off of actual pirate ships. 

No, it wasn’t his style, but it was good to think outside of it. Now that they were getting more scrutiny the past couple years, now that entire government taskforces were locked onto them, they needed to stay vigilant and come up with new ideas, workarounds, so that when the inevitable breach came they would have places to go, send people to. 

He had built the Toppats back to where they were before Radman had lost his mind, before Terrence had stepped in and ruined everything left, some Elite kid had built back up an entire Empire with nothing but his own wits and while he never got recognition for it, he had to keep going. It was who he was, what he needed, bigger and better and every plan in the world in case it all went wrong, crumbled beneath him. 

Right gently tapped on his hand. 

Reginald nearly jumped from his skin. He glared at the man, daring him to say something about his thoughts this time. 

Right was watching, sharp, direct. Then, he leaned back. Casually. 

Reginald narrowed his eyes. Right was never casual in public. He was up to something.

His Right Hand casually pointed out towards the fishing boats, various sizes ranging from decently sized to massive. 

The cool wind still reeked of the fish. He wished Right had chosen somewhere else to sit. 

“Yes?” Reginald asked dryly. 

Right gave him a side look that told him to shut the hell up. 

“Used to do that, you know,” His Right Hand said. “Wires out there could kill a man. Cold mornings, always feeling hungry and tired. Feel like I liked it, though. You see a lot of things you normally wouldn’t.” 

Alright. He had to take a moment and process that. 

Reginald ran through his timeline he had stored in his brain for Right. Met when Reginald was 24. Worked under him from 25-27. 28-present as Toppat King and Right Hand Man. That he knew as a fact. 

From documents, he knew Right was in the Clan from the time Reginald was 17 and still at University. Before then he’d spent two years as a bodyguard, still gaining muscle and height but strong and quick enough to have _very_ illegal bosses. 

He stared out at the shipyards, across the gravel pathway and browning grass towards the docks. Watched the men prep a nearby boat, dragging something in a large container onto the ship. 

The wind tousled his bare head, pulling curls from his carefully-styled mess and fluffing them dry. 

“What the hell do you mean?” Reginald finally asked, bewildered. “I thought you- you don’t _remember_ anything.” 

“Don’t,” Right agreed, an arm resting on the back of the bench. “Not for sure, Reg. But I’m pretty sure that’s what my family did.” 

The words ‘my family’ coming out of his mouth nearly bowled him over. 

Right didn’t even know his name, not for certain, the one he used _sounded_ right but he always said something felt off. 

Reginald stared, blankly, out at the water. The sun seemed to blind him, turning the water white and glaring. 

He stood, shoving his hands in his own leather jacket, and walked away. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He heard Right ask behind him, astounded, and Reginald didn’t slow. 

“I’ve suddenly got an urge to buy a book,” He threw over his shoulder, and swung open the nearest storefront door. 

The shopkeeper greeted him. Reginald nodded, once, skirting around old wooden tables of tattered books and towards the back. Less people. Give him a chance to think. No airship with hidden places to go, out here. 

Stairs. Reginald slipped past a family gathered around old clothing and paperbacks and headed up, boots loud against the creaking steps. 

Signs on the walls directed him into a nearby room, small, with leather-bound editions of old encyclopedias, classics, maps, and blissfully empty. 

Reginald had to take a couple breaths. The dust-filled air was probably going to give him pneumonia. 

Sun filtered in through a single window, and that’s where his boots carried him. He stood in the patch of sunlight, amid wooden bookshelves and wrapped paintings, staring into the branches of a barren tree. 

Almost lost his composure out there yet again. He was touchier than usual lately. 

But god. Really. Something as big as that and we’re just going to say it casually? ‘Hello, yes, remember how I have had trauma-induced amnesia for the entirety of my life and how we can’t quite understand where I came from? I just remembered a very vital detail, so let me just throw that out in casual conversation.’ 

He hadn’t just thought of it. He’d thought about what he was going to say before he did. He remembered that, and _had said nothing to Reginald_. 

This was so important. Vital! Reginald tried to track back his familial lines and had excluded everyone in the Clan at one point. A long time ago, it had been something Right wanted to know, and Reginald had promised him, (drunkenly, young, spilling secrets over illegal booze and even more illegal kisses) he’d help find out what had happened. 

Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard Right even mention it for years. Why?

Ah. He could hear him coming up the stairs. He took another long breath, settling himself. 

Do not snap at him. Do not raise your voice. Do not telegraph your anger into his stupid, perceptive head. 

Reginald was all poised elegance again by the time Right took his place standing at his elbow. 

Nearly.

“Nothing downstairs worth reading?” He couldn’t help but jab. 

“Nope.” 

A reluctant smile curved Reginald’s lips. So they were both holding their tongues, were they? 

He raised an eyebrow over at the redhead, who was watching the Chief with resigned annoyance. 

Funny. Even if he wanted time to himself, Right would always have to follow him. No going into separate stores, no distance between them. 

When you thought of that, the brief thirty seconds he’d been given was pure charity from his Enforcer. 

Reginald smoothed his moustache. Alright, then. He’d trample down his rage for right now. Take a deep breath. Think before acting. 

“Anything else, aside from a possible origin story?” He snipped lightly. 

“Not really, no. It was just a suspicion, Reg.” 

That sounded frighteningly close to an apology and he didn’t want it. 

He wasn’t angry at Right for knowing it, or even telling him. It was _not_ telling him that upset him so greatly. It was important, vital, something Reginald wanted to be able to give to him if he could, why the hell would he stay quiet? 

He should ask. Right now. While they were alone in a quiet bookshop, with nothing but dust motes and encyclopedias to listen in. 

He was...confused. He didn’t often feel confused, didn’t like being confused. He needed to process this more before he said anything. Make himself absolutely sure before making a move. 

So instead of actually breaching the topic, Reginald gestured towards the stairs with long, gloved fingers and let Right lead the way back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reg has to obsess over something at any given time.


	3. Was it my fault?

The whole ‘day off’ idea was stupid to begin with, but the fact he had to stay away for a whole 24 hours was not only idiotic, but dangerous. 

Seriously. 

The places they were placed in were nice, enough that even his tastes weren’t offended, but hotels always felt dirty and resorts too full of people. While Reginald had done a decent job keeping a low profile, certain enemies would know what he looked like. 

So really, it would have made more sense to let him sleep in his own fucking bed. 

Reginald lay on top of the sheets, hands folded on his chest and feeling incredibly grouchy. 

Sleeping in other places stressed him out. Weren’t they supposed to be easing his stress? The old-fashioned inn was absolutely pleasing but he didn’t want to be here. 

Wood paneled walls, decor that reminded him of staying at his parent’s house on the seaside. All gentle, warm colors cut with blues of ocean paintings, long curtains, the pillows on the leather couch by the window. The lull of the waves he could hear as sea breezes wafted through the window. 

Yes, alright, maybe it was a little relaxing, in a nostalgic way, but he still wasn’t happy. 

Low security, he was sure, and though Right was lying down he knew his enforcer wouldn’t sleep at all. He rarely did when they were elsewhere, and in those few circumstances would sleep for short intervals and jerk awake ready to check their surroundings. 

Reginald looked over at the other bed, his partner pretending he was asleep as if Reg didn’t fucking know otherwise. If a mosquito buzzed in through the window he wouldn’t be shocked if Right leapt out of bed to kill it. 

The Toppat Leader shifted, motion muffled by the soft navy quilt beneath him. Moonlight poured in over the windowsill, bright enough that he could see most of the room without straining his eyes at all. 

There must be a storm headed over them right now. He could hear it rumbling. 

He sent a curious look towards the silent back of his enforcer. 

Right enjoyed thunderstorms. And he really seemed to like the seaside, though they wouldn’t be able to do any visiting this outing. Maybe he could get some rest after all. 

You know, that was something he didn’t think about. Why were they worried about _Reginald_ being stressed when honestly, Right was there with him in that category? 

Rain started to patter against the roof as Reginald flit through all the things in his mind he’d stored away about Right. 

He was getting slower, he noticed. Just in certain areas, when he was tired or when they first got up or when it was cold out. He was apparently remembering things from his past now, and that was worrying the Chief a lot more than he thought it would. 

Because not only had he _kept that bloody secret_ but wasn’t that strange? All of a sudden, him remembering? Was that a herald of possible other issues incoming? Should he approach one of the doctors forcing rest down his throat and tell them? 

Reginald moved to lie on his side, staring at a baggy shirt that hid rippling muscle and innumerous scars. He had his own share, but nothing like Right. The man was riddled with marks, many from before they’d even met but most afterwards. 

He’d given up quite a lot to be his Right Hand. 

His sleeping schedules, his personal interests, his own body. Everything about him was honed to be Reginald’s protector. To keep him safe from outside threats, yes, but also to keep Reginald himself in check. To stand toe-to-toe and win against the head of the organization, that was the main responsibility, and that was why it was so imperative to pick a good Second-in-Command off the bat. 

Oh, he’d done well. Couldn’t have chosen better. 

Reginald tugged at his moustache, eyes trained on his Right’s back. 

One day, some of this would be a problem. The slowness would spread, the stiffness in his gnarled fingers would worsen. If he was having memory issues now… 

He had to swallow past that thought. 

Reginald pushed himself upwards, swinging his legs over the bed. Right didn’t stir, likely thinking he was headed to the bathroom or to look outside. 

When he stopped in front of his bed, however, the Second-in-Command shifted. Looked over his shoulder. 

“It’s your fault,” Reginald said flippantly, “You know I prefer a king or larger. Move over.” 

“S’barely even a full,” His enforcer looked puzzled. “Not much room.” 

“Thank you, Right, I can see that.” Reginald pushed at his shoulder. “Move.” 

Obediently the man deferred, pushing himself as far over as he could manage on the small mattress. It wasn’t much, honestly, he was a large man but Reginald had a smaller frame. They’d snuggled in closer spaces. 

He pulled the blanket back, sliding under the covers and pulling himself close to his partner. Right was facing him now, watching, searching Reginald’s face for an answer to the question in his brain. 

Well he wasn’t going to give him anything. Reginald reached for one of his heavily-scarred hands, bringing cold fingers to his lips. 

“You’re always freezing,” He commented, “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Right shrugged. 

“Doesn’t bother me,” He said, “I can’t even tell.” 

“Hmm.” Reginald ran his own heavily-scarred thumb across the other’s fingers. 

He wore gloves for a reason, his own hands were badly damaged and didn’t always tell him if he was touching something too cold/hot/sharp. But he could trace the outline of the other’s bones just fine, brush soothingly over skin. It was him that couldn’t feel it. 

Right was still trying to understand what he wanted. The fact he was this confused over Reginald wanting to be close to him was...honestly a little worrying. He should worry over that. 

When was the last time he’d been close to him? When safely on the airship, he often went to bed far later than his companion. Right was usually asleep. 

“Alright, Reg?” 

Ah, so he finally decided to ask. 

“Yes,” The Leader replied, lifting his gaze back up to glittering eyes under bushy brows. “I am.” 

The disbelief was so visible it was nearly tangible. Reginald could nearly feel it. 

None of that. 

“Just a little hurt,” He said, and watched Right’s eyes widen slightly. “That you’d pick two separate beds. If you want me to _leave_ , by all means, tell me so-”

Rather than pull Reginald to him- which would be infinitely easier- the bulk of a man closed the gap between them himself, curling around Reginald like he was trying to encase him in his own body. 

Down the hall, the clock chimed, one in the morning, breaking through the rumbling outside. 

The Toppat leader wrapped his arms around his Right Hand best he could. The other pressed his face against Reginald’s hair, likely basking in the warmth the other constantly radiated. 

Right kissed his head, and Reginald melted. 

God, he was a fool for this man. As callous as he could get, as much as he could forget who they were to one another...he was still a softhearted idiot when it came to Right. 

The sea tumbled outside their room, two foolish old men in each other’s arms. 

He really took him for granted. Reginald exhaled, slowly, feeling Right begin to relax under his hands. Truly. 

Right keeping things from him was bothering him. What else was going on that he had been overlooking? He was getting more worried than angry now, there were a lot of things that he should have noticed if Right had recalled bits of his past. And what was constantly blaring into his brain: 

Why hadn’t he felt comfortable telling Reginald about them? 

Had he really pulled away that much? He chewed the inside of his lip, trying to analyze his own behavior. Was this his fault? 

He didn’t like that. He hated the idea. Everything in him tried to screech away from even acknowledging the possibility but he grit his teeth and forced it to look, head on. Had he done something or said something? 

“Reg,” Right’s rumbling voice brushed over his hair, “Whatever y’er thinking. It’s alright.” 

“Don’t say something that stupid to me ever again,” Reginald grumbled. “You have no idea what’s going through my head.” 

Because if something was wrong, he needed to fix it, and the fact he had to wasn’t alright at all. 

Gnarled fingers combed through tangled curls and Reginald closed his eyes. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Right promised quietly, “Long as you tell me what it is.” 

The rain had softened to a drizzle outside. Reginald could more clearly hear the clock down the hallway.

Right. 

He loved him, he honestly did. 

And if Reginald had done something or said something wrong, if he’d pulled away too far- too sure of Right’s constant presence, his loyalty, his _love_ \- then…

He was sorry. 

Reginald was sorry he’d caused a rift between them he’d never noticed. 

And if he were a normal person, he’d just say so. But, for better _and_ worse, Reginald had prided himself on never being what he considered ordinary. 

This bloody psychiatrist might call it ‘well-adjusted’ instead of ‘ordinary’, however. 

Reginald purged all those thoughts from his mind, and decided to just...work a little behind the scenes. No need to bring it up. 

“No, my dear,” The shift of surprise he felt at the spoken nickname might as well have physically injured him for all it hurt to feel, “I’m alright.”


	4. In the Airship

Reginald had started a new notebook- always a monumental occasion, always preceding a new idea or plot or cluster of musings he needed to organize so he could re-process it. 

This one was matte black, matched with one of his best pens, and small enough to easily hide on his person. 

After all, Right knew every language that Reginald did. His usual trick of writing in obscure languages wouldn’t shield his notes from his watchful enforcer. He’d have to hide it instead. 

Reg sat in his office, alone, notebook open before his keyboard. He was only partially paying attention to the words being said over the meeting call, which was unusual but it was fine. He’d request a transcript of it later. He preferred written words, anyhow. 

His pen tapped against notebook paper, eyes trained out the enormous windows revealing the outside world well below the airship. 

Where in his behavior had he given Right reason to keep things from him? No, start back further. How long ago had this all start- no, further. Back to the beginning. Who Right had been, before he took up his current position. 

Reginald traced his moustache with his thumb, picturing the face of a younger man. 

The most sought-after bodyguard for Elites and head of the ‘defender’ positions, he’d gone by a name they weren’t sure was his. Apparently he’d been quite a violent man in his younger days, which flew just fine with Terrence but his other superiors tempered that. 

They’d thought him dim, submissive, a silent, stupid wall of a man. Right had been listening, forming his own opinions, waiting for a chance to strike back. 

Reginald had eventually given him that chance. 

But he was trying to think even further, past his own first moments as an active member of the Toppats. 

Reginald pushed his chair away from his desk, leaving people talking without his input. He caught a stack of boxes from toppling, reaching into one he’d asked for earlier and pulling it down near his feet. 

He rifled through folders, listening to the drone of voices behind him. 

Right had what past he could recall recorded in documents, just in case his past surfaced and they’d have to snip away the cords connecting him to a regular life. Reginald searched for those now, transcripts of an interview from someone who’d likely still been a teenager. 

The folder was pulled out, flipped open. The name he’d operated under at the time, his estimated age. Reg crossed ankle over knee, reclining. 

Temperament was hostile and often aggressive at unknown triggers. An unfair assessment, Reginald would say, given everything he’d been through. 

Trauma-Induced Amnesia. Whatever Right had encountered, it had left a physical and mental toll on the young man. He had a few heavy scars, his hands were calloused like a laborer. His weight was within normal scale for his body type and height, his eyesight was very good and his dental health was adequate. He’d lived somewhere rough, but with someone who made sure he was taken care of. 

The laborer comment was interesting, now. Commercial fishing was a dangerous job indeed, and from the way he said it, sounded like it may be a family business. 

No details of whatever event might have sparked the trauma to his brain. Not even a mention of if he’d been injured from the event- which he understood had to at least be two years prior, but really. This record was sparse at best. 

Reginald thumbed through the pages, catching a piece that fell from a clipped stack. 

A picture of the boy, a young face already marked with wounds, scowling darkly under a thick mop of red hair. 

He smiled crookedly at the youth, tilting his head. 

The Leader could see his enforcer in the child. The sharp look in his eyes, how he clenched his jaw when he was uncomfortable or embarrassed, the tight hold of his shoulders. 

Reg ran his thumb over the picture, gently clipping it back into the bundle and moving the entire thing into a lower drawer of his desk. 

He’d go through this all tonight when he couldn’t sleep. It would give him something to look forward to. He wrote it down in his new notebook as a reminder. 

This was where he would start. With trying to pick up those threads of his past, figure out how much he knew and where he could connect it. 

The sun was setting outside, over stretches of fields that melted into the horizon. 

Reginald leaned on his desk, fingers interlaced under his chin, and watched the colors of the sky dim to blues and purples. 

_How_ much he knew was a thing he wasn’t sure of. He might have to ask and he didn’t have a good answer for why he was asking. 

Was it enough to just ask? They didn’t talk about this sort of thing. They didn’t- didn’t really discuss anything outside of work. 

His brows furrowed as his office grew darker, shadows looming over a lone figure at his desk. 

This was certainly his fault. Right was an affectionate man, deep down, so it must be. Although they’d agreed to treat each other as Leader and Enforcer to avoid conflict it seemed Reginald had tipped the scales too much. 

So, he needed to work on two fronts. One was trying to puzzle together his past once again, the other was...was… 

What was he trying to do? Balance the scales between their personal and professional life? That sounded right. 

The shrill noise of someone bypassing his keypad made him startle, and he barely had risen from his seat before his Enforcer walked through the door. 

Right let the door close behind him, standing solemnly in Reignald’s jungle of plans, records, and sketches, raising an eyebrow. 

“What?” The Leader said defensively. 

“Don’t think you signed off well,” Right gestured towards the computer. “You’ve got a few people upset, Reg.” 

Oh, damn. The call. 

The Leader didn’t change expression but inwardly cursed himself. He should have paid a little more attention than that. He hadn’t heard everyone say their ending pieces. 

Right carefully skirted boxes and papers, hands in his jacket pockets, cracked leather as familiar to Reginald as its owner’s face. 

He stopped, just within reach of him, carefully looking over his face. 

“I was distracted.” Reginald defended.

“Yeah?” The redhead didn’t stop his analysis. “By what?” 

Well, damn you, Right. 

Reginald gestured, an elegant swoop of his hand, “It was a beautiful sunset.” 

Right’s other brow raised along with the first one. “ ‘N _that’s_ your reason, Reg?” 

The Leader’s eyes glittered. “It’s the reason you’re getting.” 

There, the man smiled, something small that warmed the look in his eyes, crinkled the edges where he was getting wrinkles. 

The man leaned on Reginald’s desk, and the Toppat Chief sat back in his chair. 

“You could have messaged me,” Reginald said, checking that the call was indeed disconnected, “I know you were working on the lower decks today.” 

It was why he was working on his project today to begin with. 

“Not trouble,” Right lifted a broad shoulder, “I don’t mind dropping in on ya occasionally, anyhow.” 

Where was the balance off, here? Reginald felt like this was a good moment to equal the scales but he wasn’t sure how. He twirled a pen over bony fingers, keeping himself from telltale fidgeting. 

It didn’t seem to be working. 

“Alright?” Right asked, and Reginald was getting pretty tired of everyone asking him that. 

“I’m wonderful, thank you,” Reginald flipped the pen to a normal writing position and made a note to follow up with the Elites in the call. “How are you doing? Are _you_ alright?” 

Right, clearly annoyed, reached out and grasped Reginald’s wrist. The man gaped as he actually checked his hands, to see if he’d been biting his fingernails down to the quick again. 

“I’m not a child, Right, for fuck’s sake,” He ripped his hand back. “Leave it alone.” 

Naturally, his Enforcer wasn’t impressed. The man looked towards the computer screen. 

Ah, shit. Forgetfulness, dissociations, biting nails. All symptoms those assholes wrote down about him.

“If you’re-” Right started, and Reginald stopped him right there. 

“I have told you before, and I will gladly tell you again,” The man struggled to keep his temper in check. “I’m stressed. I am stressed, I will always be stressed. This isn’t helping anything!” 

Right exhaled, slowly, annoyed, leaning into Reginald’s space. “They’re saying-”

“And quit with the ‘they’ bullshit,” Reginald ordered. “I know who this was orchestrated by.” 

The signs that he’d surprised his Enforcer were subtle, but Reginald knew his body language as well as he knew any of his core languages. The sudden tensing of his shoulders, the pinched look. As if Reginald was an idiot, he wouldn’t notice? 

Right was watching him carefully, like he was a bomb about to explode. It irritated him even more. 

“There’s things about me no one else on this planet would notice,” Reginald flipped the pen back around his fingers, pointing it at the man. “Except for you.” 

He was never around the same people so consistently. Certainly no one else would know him so well to even notice some of the shit he was dealing with currently. 

Right’s gaze was stony, resolved. “Yeah.” 

He wouldn’t apologize. The stern look on the man’s face said he’d gladly defend his position if Reginald tried to knock him down. 

That was his job, after all. It all came around to their jobs again, Reginald was becoming tired. 

He dropped the pen on the desk and buried his face in his hands, groaning. “I think I’m more stressed than when this all began, Right, what the hell were you thinking?” 

A rough hand brushed the nape of his neck, massaging at the tension there. He let him, too frustrated at the both of them to properly pursue an argument. Besides, his Enforcer hadn’t answered him. 

Right didn’t, at first. He could hear the man sigh, something so bone-weary it made him look back up. 

The Invincible Right-Hand-Man persona was cracking, some. He looked tired. 

His jaw flexed like he was chewing on the words. Right was a sensitive man, affectionate, but none of it was verbal. He spoke in mocking tones or fury, teased or goaded or boasted. He struggled with sensitive topics somehow; as badly as Reg himself. 

Though, admittedly, his problem was just his pride. He had the ability to get his words across just fine, whereas Right actually seemed to genuinely struggle. Perhaps because he was unfailingly honest, perhaps because he wasn't used to voicing things he kept so close to his chest. Reginald had a hundred theories on it.

“Worried,” The man finally fixed on. “Is all. And yes-” He interrupted Reginald, “I have reasons. No I won’t give ‘em to you.” 

The Toppat Chief wrinkled his nose. “Well then how am I supposed to…” 

To judge them. To tell you how stupid they are. Deny them. Lie about them. 

Right’s smirk was carved jagged. “Right.” 

God. Reginald was miffed, impressed, and a bit enamoured all in one. He exhaled sharply, sizing up the smug man still leaning against his desk. 

“Fine,” Reginald said, “Be pleased with yourself, you damn bastard. I still think this entire thing is stupid.” 

Right’s smirk melted into something softer, amused once again by his answer, all hidden behind red facial hair and the low brim of his hat. 

Reginald wouldn’t have to see his face to tell if he was smiling. Right had a million tells into his mind, and he loved knowing every single one. 

He pushed himself out of his chair, reaching, and the surprise on the other’s face melted into another soft smile; one that was pressed briefly against Reginald’s own lips. 

He kissed him a second time, drawing himself up to his full height afterwards. 

“Just one thing, then, you damn puppetmaster,” The Chief said dryly, “If I even get to ask you questions about it.” 

Right shrugged. “Sure. Once I step outside, I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about anymore.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Can I convince you to let _me_ plan where we get to go?” 

Right withdrew, surprised, and somehow that caused him a flash of embarrassment. Like he’d been caught asking for something dumb, something he shouldn’t care about. His own persona slipping. 

“Shut it,” The Leader snapped. His face was hot. “I just...if I have to go along with this, and I really don’t want to, shouldn’t I have a say in where I have to go?” 

“Sure,” Right answered immediately. “Don’t have a problem with that.” 

Huh. Somehow he thought that was going to be harder. 

“Hm.” Reginald was suspicious. He looked the handsome man over, quick eyes searching for any revealing gestures. “You didn’t happen to _want_ me to start planning these, did you?” 

Right leaned, kissed his partner on the forehead, and turned to leave. 

Manipulative bastard. You really did end up most like the company you kept. Reginald didn't tell him goodbye, but he didn't hide the smile on his face either. 

Soon as the door was closed, he collapsed back in his chair, swiveling around back to the notebook tucked under his keyboard. 

Scales unbalanced, yes. But there was a soft affection still between them that he'd certainly never seen between his predecessors and _their_ right hands. Granted, you weren't supposed to be romantically or sexually involved with your Enforcer, but. Well. 

Reginald had been a bit of a rebel as a young man. It was why he'd matched so well with that skulking redhead youth.


	5. Seawater

Picking the beach came was actually a decent idea. 

First off, it was a private beach and quiet. The only other patrons were a few families well down the way from where their tent was. Reginald could think. 

So think he did, nursing a drink, reclining back against a folding chair and letting the ocean breeze whip at his hair. 

Imbalance between their ranks. This was something he’d always struggled with. Funny, also, since when he’d first been assigned to the airship, _Right_ had been his boss in the bodyguard’s (officially called the Companion’s) Division. Then he’d raised up levels, Terrence had died, and Reginald was head of the Clan. While he’d elevated Right to the second-highest level, he was still above him in rank. 

Was that bothering their relationship? Reginald lifted his sunglasses to peer down at his notebook, make out the scawls there. 

You were not supposed to date your Enforcer. In fact, Enforcer were gently dissuaded from having families at all- anything that would take precedence over the one thing they were protecting. 

And honestly, given how some of the previous Leaders in history _and_ their Enforcers remained unmarried until the end of their lives…

Reginald doubted he and Right were the first to go this route. 

But he’d still kept things as professional as he could. Outside their living quarters, they were the Chief and his Right Hand Man, to the point where no one even remembered Right’s actual name anymore. Certainly, he allowed a kiss or two behind closed doors, but he took his job seriously and tried to make sure no one else would ever have dirt on him for his relationship with Right. 

Had he tried too hard? Reginald draped a bare foot over his chair, heel digging into the sand under the tent’s flooring. Should he have been more open about- no, because people had already disliked him when he first took over, his ‘violent tendencies’ and ‘unstable mood swings’ making people wary from the beginning. 

Whatever. 

Okay, so...was he maybe internalizing their ranks? 

He stared glumly into his drink, rewinding time in his mind as the waves crashed onto the shores. People were laughing, loudly, far enough away that it was almost inaudible. 

Did he think he was better than Right, somehow? No, he wouldn’t have been with him this long if that were the case. Reginald was a selfish creature. But did he take advantage of him? Him being his loyal second, him being present, him willing to give Reginald whatever he wanted if he so much as asked?

A job of an Enforcer was to die if necessary in service to the Chief. No questions asked. 

And oh, they’d come so close a few times. 

Reginald lifted his gaze, across pale sands with the consistency of fine powder, the green-blue horizon meeting the bright skies above. 

And in between, sturdy as the towering rocks around, stood his Enforcer, fiery red and rippling scars among the glassy reflection on the coastline. 

He was only standing so close as to get his ankles wet, cross-armed and staring into the horizon. A handsome, beautiful creature, so battle-worn and gorgeous he was quite nearly elegant. 

Reginald sat up, gaze roving, over exposed scar tissue, small deformities marring skin, new wounds from sparring with newbies (that he wasn’t really supposed to be doing). The unnatural twist of a couple fingers, tapping against their own biceps. 

So close. Reginald could name nearly every scar on his husband, knew where most of them had come from. He’d been present for many of them. The reason for even more. 

Had he fucked something up somewhere, that was what he kept coming back to. He was the Toppat Leader, yes, and the Clan was doing wonderfully. Somewhere, he stepped back so far from his husband in pursuit of his daily duties that h-

His what. 

Reginald jerked himself upwards as if he could physically recoil from the thoughts in his own head. 

He slapped a hand over his mouth as if that would do anything about it. Oh, he wasn’t going down that road. He was not married, neither was Right, Reginald _knew_ that, why the hell had that thought just come flying across his mind for? 

Oh. Right was looking at him now. 

It was too late to look like he wasn’t having a mental breakdown, so Reginald just lowered his hand and resigned himself to looking a guilty bastard. 

He could see the quirk in Right’s unruly brows from here. The man started walking towards the tent, leaving footprints in his wake. He was staring, intent, making direct eye contact with his Boss. 

Oh. Reginald squirmed, a bit pleased with the intense look in his Enforcer’s face. It built a bit of anticipation. 

Right came to right before the tent and ducked, resting his hands on the top and peering at his husband. 

“Y’er doin’ what right now?” He drawled. 

“Not working,” Reginald told him primly. “So none of your business.”

“Uh huh,” The man didn’t believe it in the slightest. “Y’er cute, Reg.” 

The Leader exhaled, reining in his temper. 

“I’m not working,” He said, firmly, looking his partner right in the eyes. “It’s a personal project.” 

“Mmhm,” Right ducked into the tent, sitting next to Reg’s chair, all 6’5’ muscular man and seaspray-curling hair. “What about?” 

“A private project that doesn’t need your input,” Though honestly it could- “Thanks for asking.” 

Right just grunted that time, hands over his knees, staring out at the ocean. 

Reginald didn’t look away. 

He was rapidly approaching middle-age, woefully along with Reginald. He was still incredibly good-looking. He’d always been good-looking. 

Oh, a young Reggie had thrown himself at Right in ways that embarrassed him nowadays. No fucking tact, just a desire for something and the thought that he’d get it just for wanting. Honestly. 

Right looked over, raising his eyebrows, and Reginald smiled. 

“You’re a handsome old man,” He teased, bringing his glass back to his lips. “Have I told you that, my dear?” 

Right’s smile reached his eyes, crinkling them at the edges. “Mm?” 

“You know, I don’t mind being alone,” Reginald mentioned, “Leave me alone with a drink and a view and I’m perfectly alright. You don’t have to sit with me.” 

Right was thinking of something Reginald wasn’t going to like. He knew the crafty turn of his lips, the look of evil, boyish joy. “Reg?” 

“...What.” 

Right pointed at the drink. “What’s in that?” 

“Tequila, mostly,” Reginald surveyed it. “Why?” 

Right plucked it from his hands. 

“ _Excuse me_!” Reginald sputtered. “What?!” 

Right downed it in that second and set down the glass, smirking at the other man. 

Reginald stared at him as he he crouched, and the next moment he was scooped into his Enforcers arms and quickly carried out towards the beach. 

Reginald was so startled he couldn’t say anything, gaping openly at the daring. 

“Y’shouldn’t’ve kept all your clothes on,” Right told him amiably. “S’going to make this a lot worse.” 

“Well some of us aren’t cut like Greek Gods, you idiot,” Reginald wrapped his arms around the man. “I swear, Right, if you fucking dare-”

“Flattery’s a bit too late, Reg,” The man smiled at him, wickedly bright and showing teeth. “Enjoy the swim.” 

And with that, his grown-ass man of an Enforcer tossed him into the waves. 

Reginald hit the water face-first, nearly inhaling lungfulls of warm seawater. He came up, sputtering, fingers and knees digging into loose sand and shells. 

Right was roaring with laughter, the bastard, and Reginald clawed into the sand like it could propel him into his stupid abs. 

“You-” He stammered on his words, wide-eyed and seething. “I’m going to kill you!” 

“Pretty sure there’s a rule against that,” The man taunted him, eyes shining. 

Reginald stood, shorts and button-up now saturated in seawater that poured off his sleeves, curled his hair into a frizzy mess. He found his voice again, hissing and sharp. 

“Well we aren’t at work, as you keep reminding me.” 

“We aren’t at work,” Right agreed amicably. “So quit workin’, Reg.” 

He could feel the tic underneath his right eye. Right tilted his head, all happy innocence. And then the hulking tower of a man darted down the coastline, away from Reginald. 

He gaped, immediately running after him, sending an assault of words to follow that the surrounding families were blissfully too far away to hear. 

Reginald sloshed through the water to shallower depths, giving quick chase across crystal-clear waters and snails that dug themselves further into the sand. 

He caught up with Right- somehow he doubted the other was _really_ trying to escape him- and the taller man tackled him from the side back into the sea. 

Another mouthful of seawater. His only consolation is that Right nearly drowned himself, this time, shaking water from his red hair with a blinding grin. 

Goddamit. Reginald was biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling, trying to hold onto anger that was fading rapidly under the genuine, brilliant joy radiating from the man. 

He pulled him into a kiss, instead, coarsely salty and warm. It was good, Reginald rested a hand on his hip, deepened it. Right gently bit at his lip. 

“Are you gonna kill me, Reg?” He teased, breaths against Reginald’s own mouth as the other man’s hands went from wandering straight to groping, “Now’s the time.” 

“When you least expect it, you bastard,” Reginald panted, “Knife between your fucking ribs.” 

Right threw back his head, laughed again, and Reginald let him a moment before reminding him what they were currently in the middle of. 

The sun set over a sea-soaked and scarred duo, leaving them in each other’s arms and covered in sand.


	6. Up past your bedtime

Well, Reginald got his wish for this week. He got to stay in his office and work. 

Thanks to a lovely little situation, leaving right now would be a security risk. Right had been the one to tell him to stay put, so he hadn’t argued. Had even considered it a good thing, more time to get things done. 

By ten at night he was bored out of his fucking mind. 

Reginald sagged against his desk, a headache pounding behind his eyes as he stared out the windows of his office. The skies were cloudy and dark, his office only illuminated by a lamp and his computer screen. 

He had nothing else he could prep. He had to wait for responses from others, which was annoying. Curtis was one of them, and the Head of Communications did things on his own damn time. 

Reginald sighed, pulling out his notebook. What Sven saw in that man, Reginald couldn’t fathom. He was mouthy and unemotional and far too tall than anyone had a right to be. Intriguing tastes. 

The low, buzzing ambiance of the airship was the only noise as Reginald flipped through papers, up until something tinged on his computer. 

He glanced over, seeing a new message come in, and flipped open his inbox to see three words from his Enforcer. 

**Gone to bed**

Hm. Seemed Right’s night ended early also. 

Reginald brushed his moustache, eyes narrowing. 

He pushed himself up, sending folders sliding to the ground, and hopped over them to get to one of the stacked boxes he’d brought over last month. 

If Right was going to bed, he could go through his history without worrying over being walked in on. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to do, right? 

He ripped open the top of the box like a child at Christmas, tossing it onto what had once been a couch before it began life anew as a second desk. He pulled away the protective covering, digging his hands into the history of his partner in many crimes. 

Yes, this was exactly what he asked for. Reginald silently thanked the archivists who’d sent the box up to him, slamming a large folder onto his desk and falling back into his chair to read. 

An extensive medical history, detailed, going back to Right’s first day in the Clan. 

This was what he needed. Reginald kicked back, shining shoes resting on his desk, flipping through paper after paper. 

Yes, constantly mentioned Aggression. My god they loved focusing on that. Looks like they really went into detail with this, CT scans, MRI’s, even a polygraph at one point. Which wouldn’t have done anything, if Right had to lie he did so without guilt. Good fucking luck. But it seemed like a handful of curious Toppat doctors had investigated this. 

Trauma-induced amnesia, or whatever it was clinically called, was rare, Reginald knew. Even more rare that it would last this long. Curiosity was natural, he just hoped they’d give him good information. 

Looks like they recommended therapy. Asking a young, fire-hot Right to go to therapy probably was a good reason for ‘Aggressive When Questioned’ to be underlined twice. 

He never thought of pushing that for Right. Reginald’s heel ticked against the desk when he couldn’t keep still. Right never seemed anxious about it, or depressed, he was never heavily into substances to ‘numb the pain’ or anything like the handwritten notes here were concerned over. 

Funnily enough, it seemed like it hadn’t bothered him. Not knowing who he was, where he was from. 

His own name. 

Reginald brushed back his moustache with his thumb, staring off into a dark sky. The hum of the airship droned on. 

When he’d introduced himself, he’d gone by what he thought his last name was. Wright, he called himself, which was something Reginald had always called him. The fact it just morphed into Right- to the point of few people remembering how it was originally spelled- never bothered the man. 

It wasn’t really his name to begin with, he’d once confided in Reginald. Right was the only identity where he knew for a fact who he was. 

Maybe that was why he never looked further into it. But could you really be comfortable in a new identity, never certain of who you used to be? Reginald couldn’t, and certainly not when he was starting to get glimpses into his own past. 

The rest of the papers were less helpful. Reginald poured over them with the honed attention he was known for. 

Injuries sustained from the time he was accepted as a member of the Toppats up until he was promoted to Leader of his division. 

Lots of concussions. Stabbed a few times. Many, many times where he broke the bones in his hands- that’s why he was struggling with them a little more now, as he aged. Fractures. Twisted knee- this paper said his left but Reginald knew for a fact it was his right that was problematic- several dislocations that apparently he had brought up as an afterthought. Sounded like him. 

He liked the careful records, but the pictures _were not necessary_. 

Reginald had killed before, had once walked away from a man covered in his brain matter, but this turned his stomach more. Exposed muscle. Unnaturally-bent limbs. Gashes, divots, slices. Bruises that covered his entire left side of his body, ranging from black to green. Swelling that left his young face unrecognizable. Burns. 

Reginald’s eyes flit down to his gloves. 

He brought one to his mouth and carefully took the fabric in his teeth, pulling it off the hand. 

Reddish and mottled skin stretched the shape of his hand oddly, lifted and still angry after over a decade of him receiving them. They got better once they reached his upper arms- he had feeling once it got to his wrists- it was the psychological trauma of that day that caused him the most trouble. That and the rumors that spread shortly after. 

He’d been so pissed at the mission his carefully-constructed and well-mannered facade had snapped. His fiery, paranoid, maniacal energy apparently hadn’t been obvious until he was too tired to watch his words more, and it led people to whisper he’d never been the same since. 

Irritating. And none of their damn business. 

Reginald’s gaze shifted back to the capital letters. 

AGGRESSIVE. 

Well, you were probably pissing him off by treating him like a lab rat. Reginald flipped the page over, jaw set, and closed the folder entirely. 

It was thicker than his forearm. 

He leaned back once again, staring up at the ceiling. 

Had he not told Reginald because he didn’t want to be forced into treatment? That would be _ironic_ , considering he’d set the phychs on his own husband instead. And now Reginald had to go out around town and pretend he wasn’t tired or stressed on or off the airship. 

Though spending time with Right was nice. Admittedly. He almost missed it today. 

He reached out, pushed his computer mouse to interrupt the blacked-out screen just to stare at the words again. 

**Gone to bed**

He’d sent that an hour ago, knowing Reginald would work well into the night. As he did every night. Right would be asleep by the time he tumbled into bed, or, as it sometimes happened when he had a new obsession, he was already up again and working by the time Reginald’s body crashed. 

**Gone to bed**

His eyes flit to the folder. 

His fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into skin that couldn’t feel it. 

**Gone to bed**

Reginald shoved his chair away, let it roll behind him into the filing cabinet as he swept from the room. 

The Toppat Leader’s pace was quick, focused. He focused his eyes down the hall and hoped he’d run into no one, see nothing, and be able to retire without people wondering to where he was going in an urgent hurry. 

That wasn’t to be, because the Head of Communications was leaving the Third-in-Command’s office and stepped out just as he was walking by, leaving him staring down at the man with a vague curiosity. 

“Night, Chief,” The man called after him. 

“Curtis.” Reginald greeted as a formality only. He continued on his way but he could feel the man’s eyes on him until he turned the corner. 

Well, now Sven was going to ask about this tomorrow. If the little brat had the balls, he’d respond by asking why Burt Curtis is walking out of his office just before midnight looking suspiciously more disheveled than usual. 

The walk to the upper-leadership wing was a long one, mostly due to the security needed to get by, but Reginald reached his quarters within another six minutes and was swiping his ID into his room the next half minute. 

Everything was dark, except for the light over their kitchen that only barely-illuminated the living room. Right always left it on for him, knowing he’d come back exhausted and in the dark. 

Reginald turned it off on his way into the hallway. 

He’d left his shoes at the front door, on the rack next to Right’s boots, stepping silently into the bedroom they both shared. 

The walls were taupe and glossy, the floors covered in various rugs. There was a ceiling fan and a box fan going, something to further blur the sounds so the ever-vigilant Right Hand Man didn’t jerk awake every time someone on this wing of the ship sneezed. 

The space was ample, the storage never quite enough, the bed was a king and Reginald’s prince was lying on his side, facing the false windows. 

He heard Reginald come in because he immediately sat up, the surprise evident on his face as he checked the clock next to their bed. 

The Toppat Leader nodded at him, ducking into their expansive closet and then the bathroom. 

Look, he normally wouldn’t have gotten any work done today at all, so getting anything done was a bonus. If he wanted to retire early tonight, snuggle into bed and sleep for more hours than he’d gotten in the past two days, he damn well could today. 

By the time he stepped back into the room, freshly showered and already feeling exhausted, Right was sitting all the way up, staring Reginald down with a cold, careful look. 

Well what was that about? 

Rather than ask, like a normal human being, Reginald pulled away the covers of his side of the bed, snuggling into them as his aching muscles nearly cried in relief. 

Reginald looked up at his husband, silhouetted against a fake sky of stars that were faintly glowing. 

He could just ask. He really could. Instead, Reginald smiled. He opened his arms, a clear invitation, and he saw the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, the quirk of his mouth under a bushy moustache. 

“Come here,” Reginald demanded, voice coming out low, velvety. 

It was all the convincing needed. The stubborn man nearly fell into his arms, curling around him with his head tucked into his neck. 

Reginald ran a hand through his hair, feeling the shivery exhale against his skin. 

Oh. _Oh_ , this was nice. Right snuck freezing hands up his shirt, warming them against Reg’s heated skin, and nuzzled ticklishly against his husband like a lonely-

Partner. Partner. Partner. Reginald was _not_ going there right now. 

He must have made some kind of irritated noise, because Right was speaking gruffly from under his chin. 

“Alright, Reg?” 

“I’m going to pitch you straight off the airship if you start this up,” Reginald told him dryly. “Less and less alright the more I’m asked, darling.” 

Right scoffed. His hands, now equal warmth with Reginald’s own skin, traced lazily with rough fingertips. 

Rough hands, broken fingers, a wrist that didn’t quite bend right anymore. Reginald ran his hands down Right’s back, lazily scratching to comfort, not interest. 

Right responded with a soft kiss to the collarbone, thumbs running comforting little circles. 

This was the best idea he’d had all day. Reg stared up at the ceiling, Right heavy on his chest, cuddled up against him. This was comfortable, pleasant, when was the last time they’d even touched each other for longer than a pat on the shoulder, shake of the hand, kiss on the cheek? 

Reginald struggled a bit with spoken affection- words were empty, meaningless, just something to coax someone else into an end goal- but physical affection was easy for him. His love poured off him in waves when he was able to get Right alone, keep him close and love him the way he deserved. 

He kissed the top of his head, closing his eyes, content to lay and be half-crushed all damn night. 

“Love you, Reg.” 

The words were a militant-precision shot, hurting Reginald nearly as much as they pleased him. 

He really hadn’t said that to him in a while. They hadn’t snuggled, touched, spent time in each other’s presence for ages, and this was catching up to Reginald like his aching muscles as night were, his blurry vision after conference calls. 

Again, he was sorry. He was so, so, so sorry he let things lapse on their- their partnership, that he didn’t tell him a hundred times a day. 

So Reginald unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth by sheer will. 

“I love you too.” 

He ran a hand back through his hair, unable to feel any of it. 

“I love you, Right.” 

The other hummed, seeming quite content, happy to be encircled in Reginald’s arms and spoken to like a precious thing. 

Well, that he could fix. This, this he can fix. He had to just...just pull his head out of his ass once in a while, make sure he was snuggling and touching and telling his man he loved him best he could. Then he could figure everything else out second. 

His worry over their unequal ranks, his past coming back, he would place those under this. At least for tonight, while he had Right and his arms and could remember. 

The two later slept tangled in one another, not even minding the constant jolts awake as the other shifted happily in their sleep.


	7. Mountain Man

Oh, he was drunk. 

Reginald rarely got to see Right well and truly smashed, much less _away from the airship_ , but apparently Right thought the middle of nowhere, bear-riddled, no-internet-or-cell-phone-reception forested mountains were a safe enough place for him to get absolutely trashed. 

Oh, and it was fun. 

A typical person wouldn’t even notice. Right was far from a sloppy drunk, still appearing wholly in control of himself and not a sway or shake in his pace or gestures. But Reginald could see him lose the tightness of his shoulders, his jaw was no longer clenched, he even saw him smile once, as he walked onto the screened-in porch, staring up at the starry night sky like a man enthralled. 

Reginald hadn’t spoken in at least a half an hour, merely enjoying watching him _relax_ for once. 

Right was standing in the corner, opposite Reginald sitting on an outdoor sofa, sipping on some cheap beer he’d picked up on the drive in through the mountains. 

The surroundings sort of fit him, in a way. Reginald tugged idly at his moustache. It was wild out here, rural, rugged. Right looked right at home, handsomely rugged on his own, a plain shirt stretched over thick muscle and heavy boots meant for active wear. 

He’d left his hat off, exposing his face far more than usual. Reginald watched every twitch of his lips, every blink and grimace and furrow of his brow, reading him like he would a favorite book by a fireplace. 

The air was chilled but Reginald sat with his husband’s jacket over his shoulders and the warmth of knowing he actually did pretty well in picking a place out for them to visit. 

He’d been content to just sit here, and listen to the crickets, the various noises out in the woods he just assumed were deadly cryptids and was happy to leave at that. 

But, again. Right was drunk. And while he was entirely in charge of himself, you also were given moments like: 

“M’gonna chop some wood.” 

Which was weird enough to immediately break his own tranquil thoughts. 

“Sorry?”

Right made a motion with his hand, towards the side of the cabin. “Wood. Chop.” 

“Yeah,” Reginald drew out the word, slow, “I understood that. Why?” 

Right shrugged. 

And drained the last of his beer, pale throat exposed to the moonlight. Reginald was busy staring at his idiot and trying to comprehend where he was coming from. 

“You’re drunk,” He pointed out as Right set the bottle down on the sill of the screened in porch. “You shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ an axe.” 

“Not that drunk, Reg,” The man patronizingly patted his head on the way by. “I’ll be fine.” 

He trailed off into gibberish as Right stepped off the porch, trudging off into the darkness like a moron, leaving Reginald behind as the door shut with a squeaking crash. 

Over his dead body was Right cutting a limb off or being devoured by bears. 

Muttering rude things under his breath, Reginald hauled himself to his feet and went trailing behind the taller man, boots crunching dried pine needles. 

Idiot, idiot, idiot. He was surprised Right had let himself become intoxicated, given they were out here alone. Again, he clearly thought it was somehow the safest they’d been, and Reginald wasn’t about to tell him not to. As Leader, of course, he had the right, but as a domestic partner he wasn’t exactly that controlling. 

He did, however, draw the line at using a fucking axe while Right was hammered. He didn’t _care_ that he was mostly a controlled, careful guy. Honestly. 

“You’re an idiot,” Reginald told him when he caught up to him, “There isn’t even a need- there’s a literal log pile feet away from us, you moron.” 

“Eh. More for the fun of it’n anything,” Right said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in Reginald’s general direction. “Feel free to watch.” 

“Mmm,” Reginald crossed his arms over his chest, watching his imbecile reach for a chunk of forestry. “It isn’t really my kink.” 

“N’yet, here you are,” Right retorted, picking up the axe handily. He tested it like a man about to fight, not chop wood. “Can’t mind your business.” 

“My only guard is intoxicated and picking up an axe to chop wood, miles away from any sort of civilization,” Reginald smoothed back his moustache with distaste. “Arguably, that is my business.” 

Something in Right shifted. There came the tightness in his shoulders, the furrow of his brow. 

“I’m not that drunk.” 

“Famous words of many a man past his limits,” Reginald said lazily. “But please, continue. I can’t wait to have to call in someone to airlift you to a hospital.” 

Right stared at the axe in his hands. 

“Or better yet, attempt to while we get cornered by one of many governments, private agents, hitmen...or maybe they’ll just let the bears eat us. Mountain lions. Do boars eat people, do you think?” 

Right growled, making a violent gesture, and the hatched was buried deeply in the chopping block. 

He strode over to pick up his shirt, and he sent Reginald a look so scathing it took him aback. 

“You win again, Reg,” Right said bitterly. “Hope you’re happy ‘bout it.” 

Now wait, hold on, no, that wasn’t what he wanted. 

The Toppat Chief watched his husband retreat with alarm, staring wide-eyed after him. Right didn’t look back, didn’t check if Reginald was following. He left him to go back into the front entrance, Reginald could hear the door slam. 

He was frozen, breathing heavily into the frosted air, the yips of wild dogs in the distance, owls calling to one another from treetops afar. 

No, no, no, he didn’t want this. He was fucking it up yet again, ruining another good thing, and Reginald bounded after his husband the next instant like a worried teenager. 

The thirty-something let the front door bang behind him also, hastily sliding the lock shut and anxiously skittering around the rustic and cozy interior, past gaudy dead animals mounted on the walls and thrown over the floor. 

Right was in the kitchen, washing his hands, splashing water on his face. His jaw was set harshly and he wasn’t looking at him. 

Had he been that wrong? Where exactly had he misstepped? It was somewhere between worry that Right would hurt himself and annoyance at him ignoring good advice such as ‘don’t tempt fate to cut a foot off’. 

Reginald didn’t apologize. You never showed weakness like that, not ever, even in the few moments where he’d been truly sorry he attempted to never apologize. But oh, he’d looked _happy_ before and he hadn’t meant to destroy that in such a fell swoop. 

“I’m sorry, Right.” 

In the end, the words felt horrible and correct to say all at once. 

His- Enforcer froze, water still running from the faucet, and in the next minute slammed it off and turned sharply. 

Reginald had never been afraid of Right and wasn’t now, though the height difference meant the latter loomed over him. 

“You don’t even understand what you do wrong,” Right told him, voice low, growling, and bordering on downright _mean_. “Don’t fuckin’ apologize to me.” 

Reginald stared, head tilted back to see his face, a slim man next to a brick-built machine. 

“No, I don’t,” He managed, once he found his voice again. “I know I’ve upset you.” 

Right walked past him, not near enough to touch. 

“Right!” Reginald’s tongue felt like it was made of cotton. “Don’t leave me here- _Right Hand Man_ -”

That got him to stop. Right’s hands were fists. 

“M’not leavin’ the house,” He grit without turning, “Y’er fine.” 

“Right.” 

“Pick a fuckin’ room, I’m guardin’ outside.” 

“Right-”

“Let me do my job,” Right finally turned, expression so cold it nearly left the Toppat glacial. “ _Chief_.” 

Oh. Reginald quickly ran through everything that happened since they left the porch, within the context of current events. 

My only guard. 

Jab at him not being able to do his job while intoxicated. 

Right Hand Man. 

“Ah,” He said, slowly, letting it all fall together. “You...are upset with me because I mentioned work?” 

“Years down the road n’you can’t ever just let a day pass without it,” Right said coldly. “Even if it’s killing you.” 

“It’s not killing me, Right.” 

“S’not healthy.” 

“Regardless,” Reginald brought the conversation back around, “I’m genuinely sorry I mentioned it and I won’t again. Will that suffice?” 

Right scoffed at him. Grinned, crookedly, and laughed like it was a funny thing.

Reginald’s mouth was so dry he wasn’t sure he could even begin to form a sentence. 

“Stop tryin’, Reg,” There was genuine hurt in his expression now, he clenched his jaw between words like he was trying to stop more from coming. “Y’er bad at apologies, anyhow.” 

His arms ached from how tightly they were crossed in front of him, the cracking leather of Right’s coat not protecting him from the sudden chill. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I’m _tryin’_ to-” Right stalked away, took a few breaths, and came back closer, eyes intense. “Reginald.” 

His full name said by Right sounded off. “Yes.” 

“What am I?” 

_My Right Hand Man_

_My Enforcer_

_My- ___

__“Mine,” Reginald’s voice came out odd. “My partner.”_ _

__Something too relieved to be normal flooded Right’s body. The anxious, manic energy released, leaving him looking only pinched and tired._ _

__That he didn’t understand. Reginald searched every cue in his face for the answer and came up empty._ _

__Right suddenly looked young. Younger than when Reginald had met him as a twenty-something, something more akin to the young boy he’d seen pictures of, wearing his emotions under the pretence of anger._ _

__“Right,” Reginald forced out of his mouth, “Please come here.”_ _

__‘Please’ was as rare as ‘I’m sorry’, but all Right did was close his eyes._ _

__“Arthur.”_ _

__That got his attention. His head shot up, alarmed, confusion evident. For a moment Reginald felt he’d made another misstep, and then Right smiled at him crookedly._ _

__“Don’t have t’go that far, Reg.”_ _

__The reinstatement of his nickname hit Reginald like a sucker punch and the relief was so great he felt it flood his chilled veins. He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his fraying composure._ _

__“I don’t want to come near you if you don’t want me to,” Reginald told him, with every inch of earnest honesty left in his cold heart, “But I would like you to come here.”_ _

__Right looked at him a moment, a rough, tough character suddenly uncertain. But he eventually trudged forward, eyes locked on the slighter man the whole way._ _

__Reg pulled him into a hug, fingers digging into the material of his shirt._ _

__Right let him, a hand brushing the curls at the nape of his neck, and both were quiet a moment._ _

__There was something more here. Something he needed to piece together. He was so close...he needed time to think but how could he analyze anything with Right that upset with him?_ _

__“I am sorry,” Reginald said against his chest, “I absolutely mean that.”_ _

__“I believe you,” Right said tiredly. He gently pushed his partner away, enough so he could sit on the floor. Reginald sat next to him, despite the eerie feeling of the furs on the ground. “Not a matter of that.”_ _

__“Okay.” If he believed him, that was a good thing. But he was still missing that piece._ _

__It was times like this that Reginald was made more aware of his social shortcomings. He could sleaze and woo and charm to his heart’s content, but…_ _

__Well. When they’d turned this situation from a merely physical one to emotional and romantic as well, it had brought all the ugliest bits of Reginald to light. He didn’t understand how to maintain relationships with others, not on a deeper level. It puzzled him to the point where really he hadn’t tried most his life._ _

__Arguably he’d never had a single real friend. Except for this one._ _

__He was very nearly 40 years old. And still trying to understand how to navigate the rough waters of a relationship, how to fix missteps was not strong on his list of skills._ _

__“I love you,” Reginald attempted regardless, all gentle honesty. “Can you believe that as well?”_ _

__Right smiled, slow and tired, but genuine. “Yeah.”_ _

__“Good.” Reginald reached for his hand, brought his fingers to his lips. “If you...if you’ll explain, I promise to listen.”_ _

__Whatever he messed up, he needed to know. Now. Without any conniving._ _

__But Right was shaking his head, brows furrowed in confusion._ _

__The two of them sat on the cabin floor, on balding animal carcasses, hand in hand. Grown men approaching middle age._ _

__“I love you, Right.” Reginald said again, rubbing a gloved thumb against his partner’s skin._ _

__“Love you too, Reg. That isn’t a question.”_ _

__Reginald squeezed his hand._ _

__The two of them sat a good while longer as the wind whistled against the cabin, sending the screen door shuddering against it’s frame._ _


	8. Offensive

Reginald sat in Sven’s office, not even picking at the sandwich ordered for him, staring at the opposing wall of shelves. The boy had placed flowerless plants in various odd containers on the shelves, light strips on the undersides of shelves to offer food for his collection. 

It was interestingly pristine in here. Art on the walls, a fountain wall behind his office space, a comfortable couch behind the two seats in front of his desk. 

Worryingly pristine. Sven’s emotional mess clearly did not pour into his living spaces. 

The Third-in-Command was tapping away at his computer, nibbling on chips between checking paragraphs. 

Reginald should be observing him closer, should be making more businesslike conversation, but he remained quiet for the better part of an hour. 

He flipped his notebook open again, writing in a language he knew Sven didn’t know well enough to read upside down. 

_Arthur Wright_ , he wrote in looping handwriting. 

The name his partner had taken as a teenager of unknown age when he found himself stranded in a red desert. Wright sounded correct, Arthur did not, but you had to call yourself something and that’s what he went with. 

Reginald tapped his pen against Sven’s desk, watching the other man’s face twitch. 

He wouldn’t complain, he hadn’t the spine for that, but it was annoying him. Reginald twirled the pen around his fingers instead. 

He’d really done well for himself, all considering. Right was an incredible individual with an astounding drive. Somehow the idiots who had first received him into the Clan interpreted his quiet, threatening danger as being dim and slow instead of just careful and suspicious. 

Absolutely the most offensive thing he’d ever read, looking through those documents up in his office. How could you ever _look_ at the man, the way he took in everything in a room in seconds, commanded a group, analyzed everyone’s motivation and intentions just by watching quietly and think he was anything but brilliant? 

Reginald had no bullet points to make. He didn’t know what to add. Working on Right’s past was just something to attempt, something to keep him busy, from obsessing over the heaviness weighing in his chest. 

He was aware that he, as a person, was ‘off.’ Some things were easy to him that were complicated for others, but it was vice versa as well. Reginald might _pretend_ he was too good to have faults, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe it. 

He stared off at the plants again, little succulents placed in teacups and mason jars and sideways wine bottles. 

Reginald twirled the pen around his fingers again, watching as the lights snapped themselves off to simulate the growing darkness outside the airship. 

“Why not just put them in regular planters?” Reginald asked his companion. 

Sven took the pen out of his mouth to answer. 

“I found all of those,” He gestured in that general direction. “I did not buy them. And it’s more interesting to look at.” 

Reginald grunted in reply, staring glumly down at his open notebook. 

“Burt got me that,” Sven pointed over his shoulder, where what had used to be a chandelier was now housing small plants and a rather impressive vine, “I’d rather repurpose things.” 

Odd. But charming, in it’s own way. Reginald stared at the tendrils curling around glass crystals, casting a greenish, sparkling light over the back of the waterfall and the grey wall to Sven’s right. 

It wasn’t terrible. He could see the appeal of it. Speaking of things that appealed to Sven. 

“Curtis,” Reginald drew the word out, enjoying the quick freeze of Sven’s arms. “How is he?” 

The mess of emotions that twisted Sven’s face was hilarious. Ooh, the boy wanted to tell him to fuck right off. 

“Good.” 

“Good,” Reginald repeated genially. And because he was a little shit, he pressed him. “I saw him in the hallway the other night.” 

Sven gritted his teeth. “Oh?” 

“Mmhm. A ways away from his station, isn’t it?” 

The young man pushed himself back from his desk, pale blue eyes positively _icy_. 

“Is there a question in that?” He caught himself last minute: “Chief?”

Reginald didn’t skip a beat, too many years of finagling finicky Elites who disliked him to get thrown off so quickly. 

“Yes, actually,” Reginald smoothed back his moustache. “Have you talked to Curtis about your call for your Enforcer, yet?” 

Sven’s irritation melted into anxiety. 

“No.” 

“You should,” Reginald flipped his book closed page by page. “If something were to happen to me and Wright, you’d have to make that call without my approval, and trust me when I say it’s best to have this all done beforehand.” 

Sven looked unamused. “It isn’t, really.” 

Reginald’s brows shot up, impressed at the gall, though the Third-in-Command took the look far differently. 

“I can remember your rise to power, Boss,” Sven hastily added. “You handled it...without a smooth transition.” 

Reginald narrowed his eyes, feeling the burn in his shoulder after all these years. “You were old enough to remember that?” 

Sven stared. “I was almost eighteen.” 

Oh. He forgot Sven was in his later twenties, at times. Lord, had he really been at this for over a decade? 

“I’m just saying,” Reginald said simply, rather than get into all of _that_ , “It’ll make for a better transition.” 

Sven was already shaking his head. 

Strange. He wasn’t usually this adamant about things without their being a clear reason. He was actually extremely sensible. What was going on here?

The good and bad thing about Sven was the boy talked like he had a gun to his head at all times. 

“Look, it’s a big move,” The boy said as he turned back to the screen, “And it isn’t one I want to make without thinking it through all the way.” 

“I thought your choice was an excellent one,” Reg said with surprise. “Are you rethinking Curtis altogether or do you think he’d say no?” 

Sven stared at his screen but was not typing. 

“Neither,” The man said slowly, “No. It is just…” He winced, a toothy, cringing thing. “I would rather not offend you.” 

Oh, now he _had_ to hear this. He perked up, leaning forward over his forgotten sandwich. 

“I’ll give you permission just this once,” Reginald said, eyes alight. “Make it a good one.” 

For a second he thought Sven might laugh. Then the blond shook his head again, lips in a firm line. 

“I don’t want it to change our dynamic,” The boy traced the outline of his spacebar. “I’m happy with how things are, and so is Burt. If I ask him, he will say yes. Now I have to ask, do I want him to say yes?” 

Reginald exhaled, slowly. “How is that supposed to offend me?” 

Sven looked extremely apologetic. “I view my relationship with Burt to be as _equally_ important as a future position as Leader.” 

Oh. 

The proverbial hit was a rough one for Reginald, enough that he actually flinched in real life. 

Sven was cringing in his chair, waiting for the outburst, and had this been before the incident at the cabin he might’ve gotten one. 

As it were, all Reginald felt was falling, crumbling devastation. 

He stood, quickly, picking up his notebook as he did. Sven kept watching him, but all he retorted were words spoken in a voice too tired and dull to come from the flamboyant Toppat Leader. 

“You had to make it a good one, didn’t you, Svensson?” 

The boy opened his mouth, but the last thing Reginald wanted was an apology. He left the room without closing the door behind him, walking stiffly from the office towards his own, where it was hidden safely from Third-in-Command by a specific bio lock and password. 

Fuck you, Svensson. 

Reginald walked with a stiff spine and impassive face, teeth clenched so hard they might crack. 

He viewed his relationship with Curtis to be equally as important as a position as Leader. 

And you don’t value yours with Right, was the inferred bit, the part that Sven was rightly correct had offended Reginald so much. 

The ache in his chest was worrying him now, it was an actual physical sensation akin to the time he’d caught a bad case of pneumonia. That same inability to take in a breath, to fill his lungs, reminding him of nights where he woke up thinking he was drowning. 

Did he value his relationship with Right? As much as his position? He picked Right because no one else on Earth deserved the position like he did, to stand at his side over the entirety of the Clan and run it in his stead. He loved Right enough to die for him and gladly should the need come, and he knew this was reciprocated. 

I mean, it was part of his job anyway, but- 

Reginald stopped dead in the hallway, heels clicking together as he stood a single figure on old carpeting. 

_”Right Hand Man!”_

Oh, he knew. And other people knew. Could see through the cracks at him, the mistakes he was making under the surface, things he wasn’t ready to admit to himself, to let himself obsess over and think about, not yet, but people could _see_. 

Did he not value Right? He’d touched on that, months back, wondered if he treated him inferior and decided no. And technically he _didn’t_ , Right was given all the respect and freedoms and privileges that someone of his ranking ought to have, on par with Reginald himself. 

He hadn’t purposely done anything, which is what he checked himself for. 

But it wasn’t something on purpose he was doing. 

Right got mad because he’d treated him like a second in command. Not like a sp- boyf- life partner. 

Reginald started walking again, staring at the carpet as lights buzzed overhead. 

People could tell. Sven, anyway, had looked at his relationship with Right and thought ‘nope, I don’t want that shit, that sounds terrible’ and that was what punched Reginald in the gut with humility. That the kid had glanced over and found it abhorrent enough that he was rethinking his choices. 

Fuck. 

Fuck! 

Reignald slammed his hand against his keypad before angrily smacking his code into the room. He flew in, body trembling with rage and stopping cold. 

Right stared at him from the windows, brows raised at the state of him. 

Fuck everything, honestly, there was nowhere sacred for him to have a breakdown in peace. 

Hands shaking, Reginald threw his notebook into the nearest pile of boxes, which didn’t so much as topple. Enraged, he kicked it for good measure, watching in barely-restrained wrath as boxes hit the ground and opened, sending folders fleebly sliding across the floor. 

Right looked downright alarmed but Reginald had already fled to his desk, sitting in his chair and fumbling with papers he pretended to organize. 

He was not one to cry and wasn’t about to now. But everything inside him ached, like when he was a child with a lot of unhealthy ways to deal with it. 

He could hear Right coming closer. He couldn’t tell him to leave, because that would make him think Reg was angry at him. He couldn’t let him stay because he’d just comfort him, as if Reginald deserved to be comforted for something like this, something that was clearly his own damn doing, so what could he do? 

His hands were shaking. Right’s shadow fell over his desk. 

The man just stood there, watching, saying nothing. Reginald tried to look like he was even watching what he was doing, eyes staring at the outline of the bulky man towering over him. He was dropping papers on the floor. 

Two large hands settled on his shoulders, applying pressure. 

Stop, Right was saying. 

Reginald stilled his hands but his heart was still thrumming in his wrists. 

No, no, he needed- he needed time to think, compose himself, before he even thought of bringing this to Right. He was a mess right now, unhinged and emotional, unlike his constantly composed and in-control personality that he _was_ , that he _needed_ to be. 

Right’s hands gently rubbed his shoulders, soothing, and Reginald nearly choked on the shuddering breath he took between his teeth. 

“Reg.” 

He didn’t have a response, something to say, an explanation, he was without anything at all. 

A hand slid forward to rub his chest, as if it could force him to take anything other than shallow breaths. 

“Ya need to breathe, Reg,” Right’s light, rough voice was low, twinges of both his prominent accents coloring his words heavily. “S’alright.” 

“Give me a second,” Reginald managed. “I will.” 

Right’s hands never left him. Slowly, Reginald’s vision started to come back, expanding to his messy office, the dark skies outside, the lamps lit. 

Right had his arms around him, waiting patiently, and Reginald raised a hand up to reach for one of his hands. 

Right let him take it, chin coming to rest on Reginald’s hat, and he twined their fingers. 

He needed time to think. He had to look at this a little better. He was starting to feel more like himself again, at least, there was that. 

“Sorry, love,” Reginald forced the words out of his numb lips. “I’m not sure what that was.” 

“Mmmn,” The noise wasn’t reassuring. 

Right drew back, gently pulled the chair around. Reginald was forced to look his husband in the eyes without a mask to hide behind. 

Oh, no, whoever wrote Right off as dim had never watched him as he read someone. He narrowed his eyes, flit over Reg’s face, took in every twitch and twist and blink and placed them together in his brain to get past Reginald’s carefully-constructed facade. 

Only here, it must have been easy. Right looked increasingly more concerned, lowering himself to his knees when Reginald finally lowered his gaze. 

“Don’t do that please,” The Toppat leader requested quietly. 

“Who?” Right ignored him to ask. 

“No one,” He wasn’t throwing Sven under the bus for _this_. The boy would be excellent at this job if only he’d use his powers for evil a bit more. “Just me.” 

The fact Right looked bewildered made him feel even worse. 

Reginald reached, cupped his partner’s face in a hand. Right didn’t understand, was still trying to read the reasoning off of him, with pinched brows and a worried, soft look in gentle green eyes. 

Reginald didn’t say anything at first, just let himself look over him, slowly regaining his focus, fingers trailing over familiar skin. Right rested his hands on either side of Reginald, cradling his thighs, and leaned into the touch. 

“Love ya,” He offered carefully. 

“I love you too,” Reginald responded, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “Very much, darling.” 

Right’s eyes narrowed, soft look replaced by something incredibly sharp. 

“N’that’s part of it, is it?” He asked. 

Damn. 

“No.” 

Right didn’t so much as blink. 

“Not entirely.” 

He still looked dissatisfied. 

Reginald squirmed. “It’s something I’m doing, not you.” 

Slowly, his man nodded, something a little too understanding in his eyes. Damn him, he wished he were dim, not a clever old bastard too good at reading him for Reg to lie without basis. 

Slowly, the man lowered his head, until it was resting on one of Reginald’s thighs. He sighed, so heavily he could feel the heat of it under his slacks. 

Reg took the hat from his head, set it on the desk, and proceeded to run his hands through his hair. 

Right hummed, closed his eyes, ran his hands over Reginald’s thighs appreciatively. Reg kept brushing back his hair, scratching gently at his scalp in a way that made the other melt. 

“This weekend must’ve lasted six years,” Right groaned, “S’been rough at my end.” 

Reg’s hand froze. Right didn’t complain. Ever. 

Was this...he was doing something, here. Reginald watched him closely, resuming his petting. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” He replied, “Anything I can work on for you?” 

Their jobs did overlap in places. There was a good chance he could take on something if it were giving Right a serious problem. 

But the man shook his head, smiled, looked up at him from where his cheek rested against his thigh. 

“Nope,” He replied, watching Reg. “I’ll manage it, Reg.” 

It was times like this that Reginald felt absolutely alien. Like he was only learning to act like a human being, still stuck in the in-betweens of what to say as if he hadn’t had 15 years of lessons smacked into his brain before he graduated school. 

He felt foolish, but he said it anyway. 

“You could stand to tell me more,” He watched Right look back up again, curious. “About your day.” 

The smile that curved his lips was crooked, nearly mischievous, fitting beautifully on his handsome face. 

“N’you could stand to ask more, too,” Right smiled all the more at his surprise. “Some of us like bein’ asked.” 

Ah. His aversion to being asked ‘alright Reg’ fifty times a day was making a comeback here. Reginald tousled his hair in affectionate punishment. 

“I’ll...keep that in mind.” 

He would, too. This was something Right was sharing. He didn’t fully understand, but Right wasn’t asking him for anything in particular right now so maybe he had time to figure it out. 

The man kissed his thigh, making him shift, and the teasing look he got made him realize it was very much on purpose. 

“Right.” 

It felt like he was doing that for him. Which was exactly what he didn’t want, needed to rethink, needed to do better. But Right was staring him down like he knew, was daring him to push him off, say no thanks and not tonight, as if Reginald weren’t the physical craver he was. 

“Yeah, Reg?” 

He still gave him the chance. To tell him to go, leave, let him stew in silence and come to bed too late to say goodnight. 

Right had offered him something, and this felt weirdly like meeting him halfway. 

So Reginald simply said: “I love you,” and let Right kiss his way up the inseam of his slacks.


	9. For Our Mental Health

If his crisis was supposed to get better with time, it wasn’t, he was just growing used to feeling the crawling terror of his own life at any given moment. 

Reginald lay under open skies, shielded by the golden-green leaves above. No larger than quarters, they flit in the wind in the thousands per branch, soaking in the rays and leaving the duo below in relative shade. 

Reginald sat with his wrists over knees, staring out over the rows of water-heavy pink flowers, tiny shoots of white like stars amid the universe, and greenery in every corner of his vision. 

Right lay stretched on the blanket and very well may have been asleep. The lunch they’d picked up for the picnic was nothing short of excellent and the wine even more so. Reginald let him lay, wind picking at his hair as he was left alone to his own thoughts. 

Being humble was not one of his strong points. But Reg had taken the blow to his knees and remained there. He wasn’t looking to rise. 

No, he was looking to _fix_. Ironic, it was, that he could rebuild an entire criminal empire with relative confidence but was afraid he wasn’t going to fix the rift in his own personal relationship. 

Reginald picked at the grass, shredded blades in his hand and sprinkling them to the wind. 

It had the misfortune of going in Right’s direction. The man immediately began shaking the grass off of himself, picking up pieces and holding them up against the light. 

“Yeah?” He asked Reg incredulously. 

“No, that wasn’t intentional.” 

The other made a show of balefully itching his skin, grumbling something under his breath. 

Reginald was not a coward. He had a good chunk of negatives that could be applied but he wasn’t a coward. He forced the words through his teeth. 

“Actually, Right. Can I talk to you?” 

Now that got him a real sharp look. The man stared, jaw set, green eyes fierce and fire. 

He said nothing but nodded, hand falling back to rest on his chest, his casual button-up shirt. 

There were chimes in the distance, soft twinkling things that annoyed Reginald. Tickled at his brain, tried to drag his attention elsewhere, filled the silence with something more annoying than tension. 

Reginald reached for the book- his notebook- and slapped it down beside his husband. 

Right glanced at it. He peered back up at Reginald, thick brows furrowed. 

“You can look at it if you like.” 

He still made no move towards it, opting to stare at his partner a little more closely instead. 

Reginald raised a brow. 

“Better idea,” Right said slowly, stroking down his moustache. “How ‘bout you tell me what’s in it?”

Ah. 

Reg shifted. The soft blanket clung to his slacks, wrinkling with the movement. 

Right picked another blade of grass from his shirt. 

He was giving him a choice, here, for some end that- infuriatingly- he couldn’t see. His hands were getting clammy. 

He was absolutely a coward. 

Reginald cracked the knuckles on his right hand, one by one. 

“ _Reg_.” 

The Toppat Leader didn’t whine, but the word that came out of his mouth was damn near close. “ _Right_.” 

“What’s in y’er book, love?” 

Damn him for bringing out the pet names. The leader grit his teeth. 

“More or less it’s on you.” 

The chimes echoed merrily in the distance as Right digested that. Reginald cringed in his own personal hatred of humility. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Reginald mocked under his breath. “Yeah.” 

“What ‘bout? Not the remembering things?” 

“That and other things,” Reginald stripped a small flower of its petals. “Listen, Darling. I understand where I messed up. Partly, anyhow, I understand that it’s- look, Beloved, I’ve…” 

Right wasn’t pressuring him but Reginald couldn’t bear to look. How close did he always come to a true apology just for it to be brushed off, gently pushed aside, his feelings spared at the expense of his partner's? 

“But that’s the problem, honestly,” Reg ripped a handful of grass from the ground in a strong, scarred fist. “I know why you were angry with me at the cabin. I understand that now.” 

“ _Reg_.” He didn’t mean to look at him, but Right had sat up, bracing himself on his arms, looking utterly stricken. “Y’weren’t worrying over _that_ this whole time?” 

Reginald nearly choked. 

“Only absolutely,” He sputtered, “How could I- The way you looked when I said that, Right, I thought maybe I’d lose you forever.” 

The man snatched one of his hands, holding it tightly in his own, squeezing hard enough to make the bones hurt. 

“Oi! Not a chance, what the hell are you thinking?” Right brought his hand to his chest, pressed it firmly against the fabric covering his heart. “S’not remotely what I was thinkin’, Reg.” 

The Toppat squeezed Right’s hand back. It was nice to think, it was, and he was almost willing to let it end there. 

“It was somethin’ different. Doesn’t matter.” 

But if Right had tried to make Reg stick to it, he wouldn’t have done better than saying that brand of nonsense. 

“Absolutely not.” 

Right looked openly surprised at the harsh tone. Reginald barely registered it, blood rushing hot with fury. 

“It matters.” It mattered so much. The fact that Right might believe it didn’t sent him into a damn panic. “You are more than my Right Hand Man, and if I can’t differentiate between you as my Enforcer and you as my...my life partner, I am at fault for that and you are absolutely valid in being furious with me over it.” 

The wind had picked up, punctuating each word of Reginald’s with another annoying twinkle of hollow metal. Right hadn’t seemed to notice the noise, looking dumbfounded at his husband with a bright and unblinking gaze. 

Reginald swallowed. The look of shock he really, really could do without. 

“Listen, Sweetheart,” He injected as much gentleness into his words as he could muster. “You are a person outside of what your job is. And I...am sorry that sometimes I’ve treated you otherwise. It’s entirely my fault, I was raised in this. I don’t have a life outside of it and never have-”

“Partly why I was hopin’ gettin’ you out might be good for ya,” Right’s own words were soft. “Thought maybe you’d like to be someone other than Leader.” 

He wet his lips. “I’m not sure I know how to be anything other, Right.” 

“That meaning you _can’t_ differentiate between me and y’er Enforcer...or _won’t_?” 

“No, I can, and do,” Reginald interrupted before the sentence was even over. “I do.” 

Right’s gaze wandered, just slightly off Reg’s form, something thoughtful and faraway. 

“But I know now that this happens. I don't always understand how to separate my personal life and the Clan, but that's not an excuse." He watched Right closely, thinking back to years of living life where they were now. "You've always been my partner, in many different ways. If anything, we've run the Toppats as a duo."

There was a sort of fondness in people like Svensson and Curtis referring to them as _the Chiefs_ as if they were one entity.

Reginald took a breath, "So, even if I were a heartless bastard, there isn’t a situation where I should ever treat you like…” Someone underneath. A servant. Inferior. Like you don’t exist outside what you can give to other people. The words tasted bad before they had a chance to leave his tongue. “...A power imbalance is not something to keep a relationship solid.” 

Right smiled, eyes flitting back to him. 

While Reginald never met his partner as a teenager, he still smiled the same. Crooked, mischievous, but now with wrinkles at the edge of his eyes. 

“That’s all in the book you’ve been haulin’ around?” Right pointed redundantly and whistled when Reginald nodded. “Right. I’ll be looking at that, then-”

“Oi, hands off,” Reginald batted the hand away, snatching the book back. “You said you didn’t want to look at it!” 

“Didn’t say I didn’t want to, asked if you’d tell me instead!” 

“Pity. You had your chance.” 

Right made a grabby-hands motion but made no move to actually take the book away. “Introspective of ya, Reg.” 

“Don’t _compliment_ me for realizing I’m an asshole,” Reginald rubbed his forehead. “For god’s sake, Right.” 

“More worried about your own sake, personally.” 

There was something so honest in there that it had to be more than a joke. 

He looked back over, newly-frizzled strands of hair falling into his eyes and being shifted with each breeze. 

Right shifted, just a bit closer, leaning on that hand between them and closer to Reg’s space. 

“Y’er always tired,” He said gently, expression so open and raw that it quelled any arguments before they started. “Forgetting things. Used to never get sick, now y’er sick all the time. You look for people to cross ya. Get snappy with Sven, and I’m startin’ to think he’s the only kid you can tolerate other than me in the Clan, anymore-”

“Yes,” Reg’s voice was clipped, but he caught himself with a mutter. “I know.” 

“So I thought maybe you were losin’ y’erself in this.” 

Reginald’s blood ran cold. “I am not stepping down.” 

“I know.” 

The two words were weighty. Held enough resignation for Reginald to understand that they’d once held heartbreak. 

“I know.” 

He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare look at Right, didn’t want to see any of the sadness, hurt, pain that came with him admitting he wished Reginald _would_. 

“Just thought…” A hand came to brush the hair out of his face, gentle as the brush of spidersilk. “Maybe it’d help. You’ve always been an obsessive bastard, Reg.” 

Reg’s lips twisted. “You aren’t wrong.” 

The clouds were getting more and more frequent. He could smell a new earthiness in the air, a clinging feeling of water against his skin. Normally he’d suggest leaving, but he was reluctant to leave this odd atmosphere behind. He’d risk being rained on. 

“I want to fix this,” He said quietly, Right’s hand resting on his back. “I’m not really sure how, Darling.” 

His partner snorted and removed his hand. The next moment he grabbed his legs, forcibly turning his body towards his own. 

“Excuse me?!” 

Reg protested being manhandled, but Right was looking at him with this tender, tired look he’d never seen before. 

“Reg,” He said, running a thumb against his husband’s knee, “I’m not askin’ you to quit.” 

Reginald bit his tongue. 

“But I want ya to have something else besides just…” He made a vague motion towards the air. “M’worried s’going to run you into an early grave.” 

He cleared his throat on the last word and Reginald flinched like he’d been shot. 

“I’m not,” He knew he had no say over that, in all honesty, but his heart plummeted. “I’m not, I’m not. Right.” 

He pushed his hands aside, closed the space left between them, pulled the much taller man into a tight hug. 

His own hands were shaking. 

Reginald pulled him down, until they were lying on the rumpled blanket, Right’s head on his chest. 

Reg’s veins were lit, a pooling fire that had once led him to take over the Toppats rekindling to a blaze. 

“I am not,” He said, hands tangled in Right’s unevenly-chopped hair, “We’re going to grow old and grey until we’re absolutely sick of one another.” 

“With all the red, I’m likely to turn white.” 

Any other context and he’d threaten to kick him if he wasn’t going to be serious. 

“I won’t step down,” Reginald told his husband, “But if you want-”

“No.” 

“Alright, then.” Well there’s that answered. “I want the chance to…” He struggled a moment on how to word it- “I’m open to what you’re suggesting. Being more proactive in this movement.” 

“Y’er going to actually listen to me,” Right translated, deadpan, a smile against his skin. 

Reginald, generously, let that go. 

“You can be right in some areas,” He ran his hand back through his hair. “You...may be right in this one. I need work.” 

He winced at the words, hating how they sounded, but Right ran a hand down his arm in a way that was soothing. 

It wasn’t a fix. It wasn’t a bright, sunshine end that brought them nothing but peace. In all honesty, they ought to have had this talk from the beginning and Reginald needed to kill his own damn pride. 

“I genuinely am sorry it took me so long.” 

“Nah.” Right, also very generously, softened the blow. “M’glad you wanted to talk about it.” 

Reginald swallowed, staring up at the darkening leaves, waving between them and the low-slung clouds above. 

They had a long way to go.

He was a grown-ass man, but sometimes he felt like he’d never truly learned how to be a human being. A person. And maybe that was what Right was saying, what they were trying to figure out, and the promise that they could was… good. 

Better. 

He’d take better. 

“What d’you think about taking less frequent trips,” Right suggested, “But longer when we do?” 

“Building on making a life outside of workplaces,” Reginald said, “Would you like it if I called you ‘Arthur’ instead of ‘Right?’

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a final warning. 

“Yes,” Reginald said, and Right laughed and said “No.” 

The skies above them split and the rains came down heavy.


End file.
